A Four-Dollar Worn Shawl to Wear to Belle Meade

She took the phone from me.

She zoomed in on the picture of the thick card.

She read the ugly insults scrawled in that looping cursive.

“Look at the capital T,” Margaret said.

“She crossed it the very same way on that grocery list she wrote out for us.”

“I know,” I said.

“She copied the writing from that kitchen note perfectly.”

“She slid it into his stack of mail,” I said.